When Storms Arrive
by Harpokrates
Summary: Let's swing our focus over to the b-listers, shall we? Moonracer takes a break from racing and finds herself embroiled in shadowy goings-on. After shopping, of course. Part four of Human AU.
1. Aching in my Heart

Moonracer took the turn wildly, skidding across the dirt road into the thick green grass. She could hear her tires struggle to get a grip, and rolled sluggishly across the mud and peat until she got back onto the asphalt.

"Not your best turn!" Blurr crowed triumphantly, speeding past her. He had a better grasp of what his car could and couldn't do, which Moonracer attributed to more practice, because Blurr was a silverspoon spoiled brat who didn't need to work for a living. Although, to be fair, that descriptor probably applied to Moonracer, too.

"I'll show you a good turn," Moonracer grumbled, thrumming her car back up to speed. She zoomed past the other racers.

"I think you just took out a flowerbed; Daisy's, probably." Blurr's tongue was poking out between his teeth—a testament to his concentration. He wasn't even chattering as much as he usually did.

Moonracer held her breath as she took the next turn. Her car skidded, the tires perpendicular to the road. At the apex of the turn, she jammed down on the gas, completing the drift in an elegant spray of dirt. Flawless.

She sped forwards, past the finish line and into her third and final lap. Blurr was ahead of her, about a hundred feet or so, perfectly beatable if he made just one mistake. Moonracer pressed the gas as low as it would go; her thumbs ached with the tension. They came around the turn again.

"Come on," Moonracer said under her breath. She slid into a drift, a perfect, lazy drift, and evened out along the straight. Her car churned dirt under its wheels and she blasted forwards, neck and neck with Blurr. She glanced over. Blurr's face was taut with attention, his eyebrows narrowed and his forehead creased.

"Still think you can beat me?" Moonracer's car inched forwards as it sped down the track, chewing away the few remaining feet between her and Blurr.

Blurr paused for a second, and a mean grin curled on his face.

"Well, _I_ can't, but Baby Peach might have something to say about that, she's a chatty one, you know, for a baby I mean; not that babies can talk.

Moonracer looked at the bottom of the screen. "Aw, fuck."

The blue shell twisted its way around the track, like a vicious blue warhead, here to shatter all of Moonracer's hopes and dreams. Poor Rosalina didn't stand a chance. Dry Bones sped into first.

"Damnit, Blurr," Moonracer threw a handful of popcorn at him. Blur laughed and jumped away, rolling off the couch and into the hardwood floor.

"Are you two done?" Perceptor said without looking up from his papers. "Can I concentrate now?"

Moonracer threw a handful of popcorn at him too. "Don't you have TAs for this kind of thing?"

"No," Perceptor grabbed the papers and jumped back from the table, "Moonracer, you're going to get grease on everything!"

"Aw man," Moonracer ildy ate an unpopped kernel, "can't have your students knowing that you come home from work and do more work for the sake of their education. What'll they think of you?"

"You vastly overestimate how much freshmen care about learning."

"Freshmen?" Blurr stuck his head over the back of the couch. "I thought you only taught graduate classes now because one of the other teachers complained you were teaching beyond the scope of the course, and you were like," he feigned a posh accent, "knowledge does not begin or end based on the syllabus Mr. Mixmaster. And then the chemistry lab exploded because of something to do with hydrogen and that's why you don't teach undergrads."

"Well, yes, but Beachcomber is out for the week because he's on a weeklong hike in the Rockies with Hound. I'm covering his classes. And converting all of his geology freshmen to biochemistry majors."

"Can he cover your apartment?" Moonracer teased.

"Mean!"

"He lives off campus, so the university hasn't bought up his housing block yet." Perceptor explained. He paused for a second, reread the last sentence, then went back and attacked it with his red pen. "Anyways, he doesn't owe me for two years of couch surfing."

"In my defense," Blurr raised a finger, "you have a very nice couch. Ah, had, maybe. Or, have, yes, because it's still in storage; oh did you ever solve that issue with the mice, or are there still terrifying mice babies in all of your blankets?"

Perceptor pressed a hand against his forehead. "Please refrain from jogging my memory."

"That bad?" Moonracer asked. "You know, you _could_ just move in with that hunky army guy you used to tutor. He probably doesn't have a couch. Or a pathological fear of pinkies."

Perceptor shot her a nasty glare.

"Oh, I remember him," Blurr blurted out, "the tall one: he invited us to go out drinking once and his buddies made fun of you for ordering a Shirley Temple, and then he punched them, and then we got kicked out of the bar so you dragged us to that dinosaur exhibit at the Uni and he pretended to pay attention while the rest of us got trashed on gas station beer. That was fun; we should invite them out again."

"Yeah, the skinny one could do shots like a champ." Moonracer sucked air through her teeth. "What was his name again? Scoop? Speaking of, what was the big guy's name? G-something, right Blurr?"

"Gargemel?"

"You two are so funny," Perceptor said drily, trying and failing to hide his furious blush by holding his papers in front of his face. "True connoisseurs of witticism."

"Says the connoisseur of couches."

Perceptor smiled. "I have enough letters behind my name to definitively say that your couch is awful. Black leather? As if you need to advise that this is a bachelor pad. The unwashed dishes do that for you."

"Hey, Blurr and I have a super cool Will and Grace thing going on and you're here ruining the sexy appeal of my couch by leaving sweaters all over it."

"You do dress like an old man, Perceptor." Blurr nodded. "I talk about you with my psychiatrist and he thinks you're compensating for the fact that you're so young by physically distancing yourself from your students via fashion choices. I told him you just have bad circulation."

"I don't want fashion advice from people who dress like their cars, thank you."

"Mint green is great and you'd feel better about yourself if you'd dye your hair a wild color."

"Ginger is wild enough for me."

"Boooringgg," Moonracer gave him a thumbs down and puffed out her cheeks. "I'm thinking blue, but like cornflower. You're too pale to pull off Blurr's color."

"The dye wouldn't even bind to my hair." Perceptor looked up from his papers and adjusted his glasses. Moonracer prepared to tune him out. "The aromatic amines would fail to properly oxidize the hair shaft, due to the low concentrations of eumelanin in the hair itself. The typical coloring reaction—the binding of the amine to the hair shaft—would certainly produce results, but the coloration simply wouldn't last. That besides, there has been not insignificant research into the carcinogenic properties of artificial hair dyes, and I'd like to avoid dying young if I can help it."

Moonracer grimaced and blinked slowly. "You done?"

"Yes."

"Small words," Blurr said, "please. You can put as many of them together as you want but you have a three syllable limit on any individual word."

"'Individual' has five syllables."

" _I_ don't have a limit." Blurr pressed his hands to his chest.

"Maybe I should go find my dissertation." Perceptor rubbed his chin. "How interested are you in metalloproteinases?"

"You know who would be super interested in metalloproteinwhatevers?" Moonracer piped up. "Gri-"

Her phone went off. Blurr and Perceptor looked at her.

"What _is_ this?" Blurr squinted. It was a rare thing that could reduce him to semi-normal speaking speeds.

"It's catchy!" Moonracer scrambled for her phone. It was where she dumped it upon waking up, which meant it was stuffed in a jar of coffee beans by the stove. She really wasn't a morning person.

"Moonracer, this sounds like an analyzer catching a probe." Perceptor covered his ears with the ends of his sleeves.

"All I hear from you is blah, blah, blah, science!" Moonracer called over her obnoxious ringtone, digging through the coffee.

"All I hear is fork in a disposal noises!" Blurr shouted over a particularly loud screech. "I'm so glad we don't have neighbors!"

"Got it!" Moonracer cried, clutching her phone. It smelled like coffee, but that was never a bad thing. She answered. "Hello?"

"Oh, uh, Moonracer," Moonracer recognized the voice, but couldn't place it, "I didn't think you be home. To answer the phone. So I could leave a message." The last sentence was a quiet grumble. Ah. _That_ was where she knew the voice.

"Arcee?"

"Er, yeah." Arcee said. "This is Officer Acree. Well, it's actually regular Arcee right now; I'm not on duty. Listen, I, ah, wanted to talk to you. Which is why I called you. Am calling you. Ah, now."

"Oh?" Moonracer pulled back the other kitchen chair and sprawled all over Perceptor's papers, earning herself a disgusted glare.

"Yeah."

Moonracer waited thirty seconds, but Arcee didn't continue.

"What did you want to talk about?' She hazarded.

"Oh, uh," Moonracer heard the shuffling of papers over the phone. "Uh, I was wondering if you might be amenable to, uh, shit I can't read my own handwriting," Arcee mumbled, then spoke up. "Ah, to maybe going on a d—hanging out. On Friday. Together."

"Well, I can't hang out with you by myself, now can I?" Holy shit, Arcee was adorable. It wasn't the first thing that came to mind when thinking of a rangy supercop who had once made the papers for single handedly busting a Dark Energon operation after having been shot, but this stuttering, nervous Arcee wasn't the one the Journal had interviewed.

Moonracer settled comfortably back into her chair, one leg hiked up onto the cushion. She idly twirled a strand of hair.

"Who is it?" Blurr whispered. "Is it Strika? Does she want a threesome? If it is: hang up! Block her number!"

Moonracer flapped a hand at him.

"I suppose you can't." Arcee tittered nervously, then coughed. "Uh, sooo, dinner?"

"I do like food." Moonracer nodded. "Where were you thinking?"

"I know that look." Blurr leaned across the table, scattering Perceptor's papers. Perceptor threw his hands in the air and crossed his arms. "That's a _flirting_ look! Who is she? Do I know her? What kind of car does she have?"

"Shut up, Blurr," Moonracer hissed through her teeth, and returned to the phone just in time to catch Arcee's sentence.

"Oh, uh, I dunno. Someplace fancy, maybe? Like Olive Garden?"

Fancy like Olive Garden? Moonracer pulled her cellphone away from her ear and made a face at it. "You are so lucky you're hot." She held the phone back up. "Sure, sounds great! How about seven?"

"Right, seven." Moonracer heard the scribble of a pen. "Good. I guess it's a date, then. Uh, I mean, not a date-date, but like a date like a time—"

"It's a date, Arcee." Moonracer giggled. "I'll see you Tuesday?"

"Yeah. Sounds… good. Bye." Arcee hung up the phone before Moonracer could say goodbye.

"Well?" Blurr looked at her expectantly.

"Gentlemen," Moonracer climbed up on the table and spread her arms out. Perceptor grimaced at her bare feet. " _I_ have a date." She paused for a second and looked down at her sweatpants and hoodie combo. "And I have nothing to wear. You know what this means?"

Blurr hurdled onto the table to join her and picked her up, swing her wildly and narrowly missing Perceptor's head.

"Shopping!"

* * *

"Perceptor, there is an old man going faster than you. He's probably going to his own funeral, and even he can hit thirty-five." Moonracer jabbed her finger at the window, pointing to the centenarian in question.

"Well, you can catch a ride with him, then." Perceptor grumbled, leaning forwards and squinting at the street signs. "What does that sign say?"

"Fifth avenue." Blurr bounced forward in the backseat and flung his arms around Moonracer's headrest. "I actually didn't know cars could go this slow and keep moving forwards, maybe you should do a dissertation on that and maybe you should speed up. People keep flashing their highbeams at us."

"It's a Saturday afternoon," Perceptor twisted in his seat to check his left shoulder before shifting lanes. "Wherever they're going, it isn't that urgent. Besides, if you wanted to go fast, you could have just taken your own cars."

Moonracer and Blurr gaped at him like he had just suggested that they ritually sacrifice a baby to some dark god.

"Primus, Perceptor, why don't you just slap me next time." There was a reason they took Perceptor's ugly station wagon out on casual trips—it was hot garbage on four wheels and neither of them cared if some soccer mom rammed a shopping cart into it. In fact, it would probably improve the appearance. Perceptor's car had _faux wood panels_ for Sigma's sake.

"I think I'll just take another lap around the parking lot. You know, I've managed to idle this thing around the entirety of campus once. I'm sure I can do it with a mall parking lot."

"Doesn't Geneva forbid this or something?" Blurr threw himself back into the backseat, an arm thrown dramatically over his face. "Perceptor, I'm suffering. Suffering!"

"No sensibility, either of you," Perceptor said, pulling into an empty spot, surrounded by other, emptier spots. He shut off the engine.

"Wow, Perceptor, you couldn't have parked further away?"

Perceptor paused and put his keys back into the ignition. "Well, there are a few empty spots in the commuter lot a few miles away."

"Okay, okay," Moonracer held her hands up, scrambling out of the passenger's side. "I'm out."

Blurr was already outside, stretching and getting ready to run a few laps around the car. Moonracer tagged him on the shoulder, then hurdled over the hood of the car.

"Hey!" Perceptor shouted, then ducked back into the car and slammed the door shut as Blurr lunged over the roof. He cranked the window down. "Don't dent the roof!"

Moonracer strafed around the trunk, leaving Blurr struggling to detach himself from the antenna. Perceptor crawled out through the passenger side and reached up to help pull Blurr's shirt buttons loose from where they were snagged on the sagging rubber lining of the windows.

"Aw, man," Moonracer crowed, "look how slow you are."

He lunged for her just as Perceptor tugged the last button loose and sprinted across the parking lot. Moonracer shrieked and bolted away.

"Can't catch me!" Moonracer howled, ducking around an ornament shrub.

"Moonracer!" Blurr barreled after her. Blurr was much faster than her (she hadn't been a record holding sprinter in high school, after all), but she wasn't that much of a turtle. Besides, after sitting down all day, it felt nice to get out and move.

She rounded a streetlamp and stumbled to a stop. "Uh, shit. Watch yourself Blurr!"

Blurr ran into her and caught himself on her shoulder before he fell. "Ah. Perceptor! Sharps!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Perceptor huffed and puffed, jogging steadily up to them. He rested his hands on his knees for a bit, heaving for air, then squatted next to the used needle. "Dark energon, I'd say, judging by the viscosity and our location, although it could be a particularly low cut of methadone. Less likely, but still a possibility." He snapped a picture of the syringe, entered the GPS location and time, then retrieved a sharps bin and a pair of tongs from his backpack, and picked up the syringe."Excellent. I'll toss this in the mass spec on Monday."

"Remind me why you're picking up used needles?" Moonracer squinted and frowned, giving Perceptor a wide berth.

"Commissioner Magnus has the university involved in some tracing program for dark energon. If we can definitively associate a certain variety of dark energon with a particular area of the town, then we can trace trafficking routes. From that, we can discover users, buyers, sellers, dealers, etcetera. Magnus is looking to track down that gang. So about deceiving. I'm using it as an excuse to do correlation studies between the new mass spec and the drug analyzers down in health sciences." He pursed his lips. "Thus far, I am unimpressed."

"What _does_ impress you, Perceptor?"

"Oh, _everything_ ," he was entirely genuine when he said it, too. Moonracer had never met someone so fascinated by literally everything on earth. He was almost as much of a scatterbrain as Blurr, which was probably why they became friends in the first place. "Except the new mass spec. Standard deviations should _not_ be that large."

"Whatever you say." They began walking toward the mall. Well, Moonracer and Perceptor were walking. Blurr was doing suicides between them and the entrance. Too much extra energy, but hey, he was having fun.

"Okay, itinerary." Moonracer said, counting on her fingers. "I'm thinking we go from the bottom up: shoes, panties and bra, dress, hair. And maybe we'll eat."

"Oh," Blurr caught up to them and threw his arms over their shoulders. "Add one of those fancy lotion places to the list. My parents are coming over and I need to buy tiny soaps for the bathroom, on account of mom loves, loves, _loves_ fancy soap."

"I'll duck into the bookstore while you two shop?" Perceptor said hopefully.

"Aw, Perceptor," Moonracer tugged on his arm, "I need your sensible fashion advice or I'm going to end up going to dinner in fishnets and one of Blurr's track tee shirts."

Perceptor gave her a despairing look.

"Please?" She grinned. "I'll buy you that gross vanilla tea you like?"

"Well…"

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine, fine. But I'm still going to the bookstore."

"Awesome!" Moonracer fist pumped. "Anyways, I thought you read everything online now? Progress and the way of the future and all that."

"Looking forward to the future doesn't mean we abandon the past. Besides, I want a physical copy of Cell so I can throw darts at it."

"It's that bad?" Blurr said.

"There's an article on phospholipids and I feel like the authors are trying to personally insult me."

"I'll take your word for it." They walked into the mall, sighing deeply once they entered the climate controlled comfort of air conditioning. It wasn't too hot out, being nearly December, but Nevada was never not in need of some cooling. Moonracer fanned herself with the collar of her shirt.

"Alright, gentlemen. You ready?"

"Yes!"

"...Extatic."

* * *

"Okay, these," Moonracer held up a pair of white three inch stilettos. "but in a six."

"I think I see a pair up there." Perceptor squinted at the top shelf, easily five feet above his head.

"Huh."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Is Blurr still getting coffee?" Moonracer heaved a stool over and clambered on top of it.

"I think he's started conversing with the barista. He might be a while."

"Great. Hey, Perceptor, hop up here. I think we can reach it if I lift you."

Perceptor stepped up onto the stool, balancing around Moonracer. "This is a terrible idea."

"Probably." Moonracer agreed. She grabbed Perceptor around the waist and hoisted him upwards. He was skinny, and unlike Blurr, that skinniness wasn't mostly made of muscle. She wobbled unsteadily.

"Size six?" Perceptor's voiced held a tinge of fear, like a reasonable man.

"Yep." Moonracer grunted, shifting her shoulder against Perceptor's hip. "You get it?"

"Er, almost—ah!"

Perceptor pulled the box down. He also pulled down a few other boxes, half of the shelving unit, and Moonracer. Moonracer propped herself up on her elbows and tugged the heel on.

"Perfect fit." Moonracer pulled Perceptor off of her and hauled him upright. "Uh. let's pick these up."

* * *

"Come _on_ , Blurr!" Moonracer struggled to clip her bra.

"Nope, nuhuh, no way, no how, Moonracer!" Blurr shouted from outside the dressing room. "We're best friends, grew up together, you don't like boys, I don't like girls, seen you naked before, held each other's hair over toilets, ectera, ectera, ectera but I'm not coming in there to help you put your bra on. There are too many weird snaps and straps and I don't understand them; they don't make sense!"

"I'm suffering here, Blurr." Moonracer untangled herself. The bra snapped over the dressing room door. "Sorry!"

"It's fine." Blurr shot it back to her.

"Anyways, opinions on the color? I'm thinking I'd look better in something a bit darker, maybe navy."

"Are you planning on getting undressed in the middle of dinner? I mean I'm pretty sure that's illegal and then Arcee will arrest you and I'm pretty getting arrested by your date is the worst way dinner can end."

"Alright, Mr. Logical. What happens if I spill cheap Italian food on myself and have to whip my dress off before it burns me?" She paused. "In this scenario, they serve pasta at above boiling temperatures."

"Why would Olive Garden give you three hundred degree pasta?" Came Perceptor's voice. He was nose deep in some book on red blood cells and was only barely paying attention to the conversation. "Fahrenheit."

"Oh, gee, thanks for mentioning it," Moonracer held the pale green satin up next to her skin, eying it critically, "I totally thought Olive Garden used the Kelvin scale. Gotta get that pasta next to absolute zero. Anyways, so yeah. Grab me the same size, but that lacy navy one we saw."

"Matching underwear, too?"

"Surprise me. Let's mix things up a bit."

* * *

"I thought you were supposed to try on clothes before you ate." Perceptor said in between bites of vegetable lo mein.

"Well, if I don't want to eat on my date, yeah, but that sounds miserable. My desire to be squished in my clothes is like zero. Besides, I'm hungry."

"If Arcee can't accept her as a size sixteen instead of a size fourteen then she does not deserve to date her. Simple!" Blurr gestured wildly with his fork, nearly hitting Perceptor with a stray fry. It went sailing through the air and landed neatly in someone's open cup.

As one, they ducked, hiding their faces.

"That wasn't the point I was trying to make," Perceptor said quietly, and his eyes went soft, "but I have glanced at fashion magazines before. Not the advice I'd take. Very unsound."

"It's cool, Perceptor." Moonracer held up her hand. "Cosmo's total bull anyways."

"Cosmos is a perfectly fine person. Wonderful astronomer. A touch distracted, but who isn't?"

Moonracer reached across the table and shoved him, good naturedly, and stole a fry from Blurr on the way back. He poked her hand with his fork and nabbed a nacho in recompense. "Ha ha. Master of comedy, Perceptor."

"I try my best."

"Alright!" Blurr said, victoriously stuffing the last of his burger into his mouth, "let's go!"

Perceptor and Moonracer looked at him, then at their full trays.

"Er, after you're finished."

* * *

Moonracer was admiring herself in the mirror when Perceptor scrambled under the dressing room door.

" _Hide me_ ," he hissed, then crawled up on the low bench to keep his feet out of sight.

"What?" Moonracer shouted, then clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, " _what_?"

"Shh," he pressed his index finger over his mouth, "I'm not here."

"Oh, hey!" Blurr shouted from outside. Moonracer could see his arms waving wildly over the top of the dressing room door. "Gargamel!"

Moonracer looked at Perceptor. "Seriously?"

Perceptor shot her a pleading look. Moonracer rolled her eyes. "You are so lucky I already had this on."

"It looks very good on you." Perceptor said, pressing his back into the wall. "You were right about the darker colors."

"Aw, thanks. Do you think the hem is too short?" Moonracer sat next to him. "It rides up a little when I sit."

"Hmm. You could wear pantyhose if it really bothered you, but I think it looks fine."

Moonracer nodded. "Not a bad idea. I have this floral print pair that looks pretty good. And it'd go with this lacy crap on my dress. Well, jumper, but whatever."

"What's the difference?"

"Jumpers have shorts." Moonracer tugged at her hem to demonstrate. "See?"

"Very practical."

"Blurr, yeah?" A gruff voice said from outside. Perceptor shrank further in on himself. "We went drinking once! You were the one who downed like three things of five-hour-energy on a dare and then you punched Slag. That was pretty great. His face was bruised to fuck and back for a week."

"Right! You're Gargamel, or G-something; I can't really remember your name but we were actually just talking about you, Moonracer, Perceptor, and myself that is, isn't that a funny co-incidence!"

"Uh, yeah."

"Anyways, speaking of, what was your name again, I'm Blurr, but you already know that." Moonracer could see through the slats on the door that Blurr stuck out his hand for the man to shake, which he did. He seemed a touch stunned, but Blurr did that to people.

"Grimlock?" He said it like he was unsure. Perceptor buried his face in his hands.

"Ugh."

"That bad?" Moonracer patted his back. It always shocked her how _boney_ Perceptor was, but that was probably because he forgot to eat unless someone reminded him. Talk about your distractible scientists.

"He asked me to _dinner_ last time I saw him." Perceptor hissed, taking off his glasses and scrubbing them clean with his shirttail. " _Dinner_ , Moonracer! Oh, he played it off as some celebratory end of semester thing, but I wasn't born yesterday."

"Arcee asked me to dinner. It's not like it's a proposal."

"Dinner and a museum! He wanted me to explain carbon dating to him. He hates science! He failed biology twice before Skyfire made him go to me for tutoring! Doing something you hate because you want to be around someone you like is _not_ unserious. Moonracer," he sighed deeply, "I have never been able to commit to anything other than _science_ in my entire life. And I have four degrees in four separate fields."

"Vector Sigma," Moonracer said, slinging an arm over Perceptor's shoulder, "and I thought I had relationship drama. You _sure_ you just didn't convince him to love a new subject?"

Perceptor frowned deeply and didn't answer her. Outside, Blurr and Grimlock started conversation about football, which Moonracer knew he didn't really care for, but Blurr had been a jack of all sports in high school, and had played on whatever teams didn't have conflicting seasons.

"Alright," she said to Perceptor, "I'm going out because I want Blurr's opinion. I guess you can stay in here."

"Wonderful. That is exactly what I want to do."

Moonracer roller her eyes and stepped out of the dressing room.

"Alright, Blurr, how do I—oh," she feigned surprise, "Grimlock! What a total co-incidence seeing you here."

"Moonracer, right?" Grimlock was tall, tall enough to make Blurr look like he could grow a few inches, and about two Blurrs wide. In other words: big. He was all hard muscle, too. Not just Mr. Universe stuff, but actually, working muscle—probably from hauling around oversized guns all day, or whatever it was army people did. His imposing figure aside, he had a pretty average face, with slightly crooked teeth, dark brown eyes, and a short crew cut. He looked a bit older than them, which struck Moonracer a touch odd for someone who Perceptor tutored, but she supposed nontraditional students were pretty common.

"Yeah!" Moonracer stuck out her hand and enthusiastically shook Grimlock's. "Nice to see you again. Anyways," she turned to Blurr, "how do I look?"

"Hmm." Blurr twirled a finger and Moonracer obligingly gave a twist. "Good!" he gave her a thumbs up. "Fun but classy! Real Olive Garden material."

"It's even got pockets. Grimlock," she turned to him, "what do you think?"

He shrugged violently. From the increasingly deepening line in-between his eyebrows, he _really_ didn't want to be here.

Moonracer ignored his sour attitude. Some people just didn't like shopping—and those people were wrong.

"Really cute, huh?"

"I guess. Don't really care about fashion. Clothes and shit."

He didn't care about fashion. Absolutely disgusting; no way was Moonracer letting such a detestable example of humanity anywhere near poor Perceptor. He could stay safe and sound in the ladies' dressing room until Grimlock left. Moonracer pursed her mouth. Actually, knowing Perceptor and his thrift store sweater habits, maybe Grimlock wouldn't be too bad for him.

Moonracer stifled a sigh and forced a smile. "Thanks! Sooo, what're you doing here? Did you guys get, like shore leave, or whatever?"

"Back from deployment, yeah. Slag's buying some… jewelry thing for his girlfriend."

"Oh? How cute! How about you?" Moonracer batted her eyes. She heard Blurr hide a snort, and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Am I buying jewelry for Slag's girlfriend?" Grimlock squinted.

"Haha, no silly," Moonracer batted her hand. "Your _own_ girlfriend."

Grimlock's face went flat, his jaw tense. It was almost impressive how expressionless he was. Moonracer knew the feeling, and the expression—it was the one she made almost entirely through high school, the one she saw one day, mirrored in Blurr, wiping his nose behind the bleachers, and then in Perceptor, sitting alone in the library with cracked glasses. Aw. She couldn't be unkind to this one.

"Or boyfriend, whatever."

"No." Grimlock grunted, but his face lightened slightly, heavy brow unfurrowing.

"So you came for emotional support? How sweet!" Judging by Grimlock's face, he didn't find anything about it sweet. What a grump. "Anyways, Blurr waved you over?"

"Yeah. I, uh," Was that a stutter? Oh, he was in deep. "Thought I saw Perceptor, uh, Doctor Perceptor. I was gonna tell him I passed. Graduated, actually. Fuckin' finally."

"Oh congratulations!" Moonracer clapped her hands together. "But, er, I thought you only needed a high school diploma to get enlisted?"

"Yeah." Grimlock laughed. "How the hell do you think I could've gotten in if they wanted college? But," he fell back into that serious look of his, "can't get very far if you're enlisted. Need to be an officer. Better chance of that with a BS after your name. Most officers are full of it anyway."

Well, at least he had a sense of humor.

"Aw. I bet Perceptor will be really happy to hear you passed. Did you want us to tell him when we see him?" Moonracer surreptitiously kicked the door behind her.

Grimlock rubbed the back of his head. "Kinda wanted to tell him myself. Wanted to talk to him."

"Oh, what about?" Moonracer knew she was pushing, but who was going to get these noncommittal morons together if not her?

"Stuff." Primus.

"What _kind_ of stuff—"

The dressing room door opened. Perceptor frowned at her and readjusted his glasses.

He coughed. "Ah, Moonracer, it seems that needle you pointed out to me wasn't a needle at all. I'm afraid I won't be able to use it in my study. Hello Grimlock."

"Doc!" Grimlock visibly brightened and took a nervous, hulking step towards Perceptor. "Uh, Doctor, sorry."

"You can call me Perceptor, Grimlock. After all, I don't call you Corporeal." Perceptor's patently false grin faltered. "Er, unless, that is, you wanted me to."

"No, no," Grimlock held out his hands, "my name is fine."

Perceptor smiled genuinely this time. "You graduated?"

"Yeah. Didn't ever think I'd do that. Didn't think I'd need to."

"I'm glad." Perceptor stepped closer and awkwardly clasped Grimlock's hand, giving it sort of a confused half shake. Grimlock flushed slightly and coughed.

"Uhhh, you said somethin' about a study?"

Perceptor looked confused for a half second before he remembered his lie. "Oh, yes! I'm doing a tracking study on Dark Energon; the varieties and locations and such."

"Be nice to heard about it. I like listening to you explain' stuff."

Moonracer gave Perceptor a thumbs up from behind Grimlock.

"Uh, well, certainly. Where to begin…" Perceptor had a habit of pacing while he spoke, so in no time at all he and Grimlock had wandered off across the clothing store. Moonracer held up her hand. Blurr obligingly gave her a high-five.

"Forget racing; I'm a born matchmaker."

"Now all you have to do is use your charms on Arcee. Piece of cake, or piece of pie, maybe."

"Har har." Moonracer shifted her weight. "I'm gonna get changed out of this thing and check out."

She did so, switching back to her comfy sweats. A thriftier person would perhaps not bother to buy a new outfit for dinner, but Moonracer was born into money and a touch spiteful towards her parents. She brandished her credit card like a weapon.

"Ready?" She grabbed Blurr and took the long way to the exit to pick up Perceptor, who nervously waved goodbye to Grimlock.

"I'll see you next week then?"

"Yeah." Grimlock's face was ruddy.

He walked a little faster than Moonracer and Blurr, probably so they couldn't poke him in the side until he caved and spilled the details of his date.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn't very fast.

"Perceptorrrr!" Moonracer crowed, slinging an arm over his shoulder. She crushed him into her chest and just barely refrained from giving him a noogie.

"Moonracer!" Perceptor despaired, struggling to get free, "Let go!"

"Whaddya think, Blurr?" She turned to him and grinned. They were headed to the little beauty salon to pick up soap and hair dye now, which meant they were almost finished shopping, which meant Blurr was on the twitchier side of normal.

"Good! Except for if it goes wrong, which could happen but probably won't unless it does, in which case it's bad, but it's probably going to be good. What about your date, Moonracer? Do you think it'll go good? Last time you said Arcee passed out, so I don't think it can be any worse really, or at least it'd take concentrated effort to make it go worse, and since you want it to work and she wants to work, unless she doesn't, it'll probably work."

"Awesome!" Moonracer dragged Perceptor into the soap store and let him up. He looked remarkable ruffled. "Aw, c'mon Perceptor."

"C'mon Perceptor what?" Perceptor mimicked. "Look, I appreciate your help, but _please_ keep your nose out of my relationships. I remember what happened the last time you tried to help."

"Uh, yeah? Me too, and as far as I can remember, it was a net positive for you, sooo."

"That isn't the point, Moonracer," Perceptor ran a hand through his hair.

"Then what is?" Moonracer ducked into the hair dye aisle and picked up her favorite shade of seafoam.

"The point is I'd like to be able to resolve my own problems."

"You know you don't need to do that, right? No man is an island and all that. We're your friends, Perceptor, and we're here to help you."

"So you've told me." Perceptor smiled wryly. "Look, could we speak about this later? I'm not done with the subject, but I don't think I'll be able to properly articulate my reasoning without a bit of planning."

"Primus, you make it sound like a parent-teacher conference. But yeah, sure." Moonracer stuck out her hand and Perceptor shook it. "We'll talk. Holy shit, look at that bar of soap."

Moonracer brushed past Perceptor and snatched the soap off the shelf. It was completely worthy of a holy shit, given that it was a bright blue racecar, or, at least, what people who didn't race thought racecars looked like. Perfect.

"Blurr!"

* * *

All things considered, they got out of the mall in record time. It was pitch black outside.

"I can't believe you spent so long throwing soap at each other." Perceptor fussed, holding his keys above his head. "Do either of you see my car?"

"I'm gonna guess it's the only car still here. Look, right next to the lamp post…" Moonracer trailed off and stopped dead, grabbing Blurr's arm.

"What?" Blurr squinted at the car and blanched, then grabbed Perceptor. "Do you—?"

"Yeah." Moonracer bit her lip. Perceptor leaned back and struggled to make out what they were looking at. "I see."

"I can't make anything out. What is it?"

"Why are you driving at night, Perceptor? Can you even see me?" Moonracer said. Blurr dragged both of them back a few steps. "There's somebody standing next to your car."

The figure was silhouetted by the light. It was probably a bit taller than Moonracer, but beyond that, she couldn't make anything out.

"Should we call security? Actually, does it look like they're trying to break in? I have about a thousand dollars worth of textbooks in the trunk and I'd rather they didn't get stolen." Perceptor's voice had taken on that strained quality of someone trying their very best not to panic. Blurr had backed them back up to the mall entrance, clever, clever man that he was.

"We could go over there." Moonracer suggested. "I've got pepper spray."

Blurr looked at her, his face tight. "Okay, so what happens if he has a _gun_?"

Moonracer pressed her fingers to her cheek. "Shit. I hadn't thought about that. So what do we do?"

"Wait," Perceptor whispered, "are they moving?"

Moonracer squinted. Yes, Perceptor was right. The figure was walking away from the car, across the parking lot towards the interstate.

"I say we wait like five minutes and check it out." Moonracer said decisively. "Maybe they were just lost and we're all making a big deal out of nothing."

As one, they deflated.

"Vector Sigma," Blurr hissed, "we're terrible at this. I mean, really terrible! We should do drills, like fire drills, but 'creep' drills."

"Thank goodness we took your car," Moonracer elbowed Perceptor in the side.

"Our stranger probably would have stolen something that looks like it's from this century, yes." Perceptor readjusted his glasses.

Moonracer took the lead and started walking back towards Perceptor's car. Blurr and Perceptor followed her, tight on her tail. Out of the corner of her eye, something moved.

"Sigma!" She shouted, sending Blurr scrabbling for the mall entrance and Perceptor diving for cover behind an ornamental shrub. A bird hopped out of a tree. As one, they exhaled.

"Moonracer!"

"Look, I gave myself a heart attack too." Moonracer pressed a hand over her chest and readjusted her shopping bags. "Holy shit. This is too stressful. Let's go home and marathon through the Fast and the Furious."

"Sounds like a plan."

They crossed the parking lot without any further incident. Perceptor unlocked his car and flashed the headlights a few times. Blurr looked out into the darkness.

"I think we're clear, guys. And paranoid. Doctor Rung is going to have a field day with this."

"How about you both get in the car before something else terrifying happens?" Perceptor reached over and unlocked the passenger door. "Moonracer?"

"Ah, actually, you guys should come look at this. This backpack wasn't here before, right?"

Perceptor shut off his car and stepped out to look. Blurr frowned.

"Wasn't that the place the needle was earlier?"

They looked at each other. Blurr found a stick and jabbed the backpack, poking the zipper open. Moonracer flipped on her phone light.

"Oh, my."

"So, is this enough Dark Energon for your research thing, Perceptor?"

"More than enough. We should probably call the police."

* * *

Title (both of them) is from Ellie Goulding's Only You.


	2. Hold Me in the Dark

"I can't believe you parked next to a drug drop off, Perceptor," Moonracer said, toweling her hair dry. It was back to its usual lovely minty highlights, instead of the jaundiced shade it had been. "I can't believe we had to sit in the police station for five hours. I can't believe they made us do drug testing."

"I can't believe I didn't get a false positive." Blurr said, throwing himself over the back of the couch.

"I can't believe they took our tiny soaps. What'll Blurr's mom say?"

"Well," Perceptor looked up from his Excel document, "she'll probably want to know why we went to the police station, and knowing your mother, Blurr, she won't be satisfied by anything less than first degree murder."

"She is dramatic," Blurr agreed, nodding, "When I told her I was moving in with Moonracer, Mom was convinced I got her pregnant."

"Pft. Oh, speaking of, you need me to be your beard for the evening?"

"Nah," Blurr have her a thumbs up, "I'm good."

"Awesome. Oh, speaking of _again_ , I can't believe Arcee wasn't at the station when we came in. It was the perfect opportunity to garner a little wibbly sympathy."

"Or get her pissed and sad at you because she thinks you were doing drugs and she hates that, did you know she came by the drag strip and gave us a DARE presentation?"

Moonracer smiled to herself. That was one of the reasons she really did like Arcee: her unwavering sense of duty. She knew what was right, and she wouldn't stop until she had achieved that. A good sense of humor and a pretty face came and went, but moral strength like that didn't waver.

"That's so cute." She said instead. She trusted Blurr and Perceptor with her life, but getting sentimental on them while sober was a bit too personal. "Okay, enough gossip and complaining. I have work in like an hour."

"Why do you even bother working, Moonracer? Your parents _paid_ for private schooling." Perceptor scowled at his computer and deleted the last line of text he was working on.

"Haha, funny wit from Mr. Scholarship. It keeps me busy."

"Most people have hobbies."

"What can I say," Moonracer pressed a hand to her chest before ducking back into the bathroom, "I like to lower myself among the hoi polloi."

She switched on the hair dryer so she didn't have to hear whatever Perceptor (and Blurr) had to say next. Avoidance 101. It was how she got through high school. She flicked off the hair dryer before her hair developed the textural qualities of straw and pulled on her work clothes—a simple mint blouse with a grey knitted cardigan and a pair of straight leg black trousers. In her opinion, she looked boring, but her boss made it clear that it was either the exciting fashion or the exciting hair that went, and she wasn't about to shave her head. She could have just quit, yeah, but where was the spite in that.

"Okay, sorry, what?" She stepped out of the bathroom, "I wasn't paying attention to you."

Perceptor rolled his eyes. "Have fun making coffee."

"Hey, that's not all I do," Moonracer pouted. " I make copies."

"You could make copies of coffee and solve both problems at once." Blurr offered.

"Yes." Moonracer pointed at him, grabbed her purse, and locked the door behind her. She clicked open the garage and unlocked her car.

Really, if there was ever a contrived situation where she had to choose between saving her hypothetical child and saving her car, she'd pick her car without even having to debate it.

It was beautiful, and very, very expensive.

She unlocked the door and sat inside, tossing her purse into the passenger's seat. She pressed down on the clutch and the brake and cranked up the car, then shifted into first. Moonracer had a running competition with Blurr as to who could get to the highest gear before they left the driveway. So far, he was winning, but that was because he didn't love his car enough. Moonracer cringed at the thought of how bad his clutch must have looked.

It was a beautiful day, really. The sun was shimmering behind a wispy layer of cotton ball clouds, but the sky was otherwise clear and blue. You could see for miles on a day like this—nothing but rock and scrub trees as far as the eye could see, until you hit the mesas.

Moonracer rolled her windows down. It was times like this that she regretted not choosing a convertible, but she knew herself well enough to know that she'd forget and leave it open during a rainstorm or something equally foolish.

Work was an business building nearish Vegas. If she was pressed, Moonracer would have to confess that she didn't exactly know what business they did, only that it might have had something to do with the stock market. Maybe. But, they had a parking garage, which was easily ninety percent of the reason she worked there. The other ten percent was the lax hair policy. She swiped her badge at the gate and pulled in. Her favorite spot was on the third floor, so she drove up two levels and shut off her engine. Then she stared at herself for a few seconds in the rearview mirror.

"This is my hobby and I do it for fun," she repeated, rolled her eyes, and got out of her car.

Moonracer did her best to creep past the secretary's desk on the first floor.

"Moonracer!"

Damnit.

"Hey, Astoria!" Moonracer waved back, a patently false grin plastered over her face. Astoria was… sweet, Primus bless her heart, but she was also a ditz and a notorious gossip. Moonracer loved gossip as much as the next person, but Astoria tested even her patience.

"Primus above, Moonracer," Astoria popped her gum, "did you see those creepy guys Shockwave dragged in? I mean, _Starscream_ is bad enough, but now he's got that weird mute guy." Astoria bulged her eyes. "Real weird. He never blinks."

Okay, maybe Moonracer didn't hate gossip that much.

"Really? Starscream is back? I thought they had a fight?" Or, at the very least, Moonracer went from getting two coffees on the daily to getting one, without much ceremony.

"I dunno, but he came in for a visitor badge. He brought some _really_ handsome guy, too. Lucky you," Astoria winked, "you get to go up and talk to him. Gawd, it's like he stepped of a magazine or somethin'."

"Ah-ha."

"Oh, wait," Astoria pursed her lips, "you don't like guys. Well, can you get his number for me?"

"I'll ask." Said Moonracer, who had no plans of doing that.

"Aw, you're a doll! I'll buzz you in?" Astoria hit the button, and Moonracer stepped through the metal detector. She handed her purse off to Astoria, who tossed it to the snoring Astrotrain. Astrotrain's snoring skipped slightly, but he didn't move beyond that.

Astoria gave her back her purse and waved cheerily. Moonracer smiled back, then slammed the button for the elevator and dashed onto it when the doors opened. Talking to Astoria was exhausting, and Moonracer lived with _Blurr_.

The technical name for her job was probably executive floor secretary, but the woman who already worked there was tightly possessive over her domain and didn't want Moonracer touching anything. Hence the coffee. To be quite honest, Moonracer couldn't care less. She got to sit in a nice air conditioned seat all day and then she got to play around with the Keurig.

"Moonracer," Nancy waved her over. "They're up in a meeting right now, but Starscream called down for a cuppa. The best part of waking up and all."

"Gotcha. Anyone else in the meeting?"

"Oh, that quiet fellow with the staring problem and some flashy young doctor."

"I'll grab something for them, too."

Moonracer ambled down to the break room and set about to making coffee. Shockwave was easy—coffee, black, and he didn't notice when she used the really cheap stuff. Starscream was a bit more finicky with his tastes, but Moonracer had found a little capsule brand that he liked. He had a sweet tooth, too. Five sugars was enough to make her downright sick, but Starscream drank it like he enjoyed it. The other two were mysteries, but Starscream's brand would probably work for them. Best to give a good first impression and all.

She balanced the coffees in her hands and knocked on Shockwave's conference room.

Starscream opened the door.

"What?" He spat, his nasal voice going shrill. Ah. Moonracer had not missed this.

"Coffee." Moonracer grinned and held up the cups.

Starscream rolled his eyes and stepped back to allow her in. Shockwave was fiddling with his projection system in the corner. It looked like Starscream had made himself at home as well. Scraps of paper—bills, maybe?—littered his end of the table. The quiet man (and _wow_ did he have a staring problem) was focussed on his phone, his creepy, spindly fingers typing faster than Moonracer could track. Astoria's new crush was longing back in his chair, drumming his fingers in the table. He looked at Starscream's back and rolled his eyes. Moonracer would have sworn she recognized him, but just couldn't place his face.

"Thank you, Moonracer," Shockwave said in his deep, unsettling voice.

Moonracer set the cups down on the table. The doctor leaned forward in his chair and snagged a cup for himself, then grimaced.

"Ah, could you make mine not disgusting, please and thank you." His voice was jovial and lilting, and Moonracer instantly disliked him.

"Knock Out, behave." Shockwave said, without looking up.

"Pft."

"I get you something different." Moonracer took the cup back and faked a smile. Knock Out gave an even faker one in return. Oh, this was a good one.

"Why, thank you."

She slipped out of the room and flipped him off as soon as the door closed behind her. Then she dumped the coffee in the trash and whipped out her phone.

'Super asshole alert.' she texted.

'How bad?'

'Doesnt like my coffee :('

Blurr didn't respond for a moment, then: 'i don't like your coffee either'

':p'

Moonracer smiled to herself and went back to the break room. She cracked open her personal stash—the really good stuff, fair trade and all, and set a pot brewing on the actual coffee maker. She preemptively dumped a packet of salt in the coffee, to adsorb the bitterness. Then she waited.

The machine beeped shrilly, startling Moonracer out of the semi nap she had slipped into. She poured Knock Out a cup, spat into it, then snapped the lid on. Never let it be said that she wasn't petty. She walked back down the hall.

"What do you mean it isn't enough!" Starscream's enraged screech was ear splitting. Moonracer frowned. Maybe she'd wait a bit with the coffee.

"I mean," Knock Out drawled, "long term care won't cure Megatron. He is, essentially, a flesh shell, which is being kept alive with state of the art chest compressions."

"Elaborate." Came Shockwave's low voice.

Knock Out sighed. "Whatever it was you did to Megatron, Starscream—"

"I did nothing!"

"Fine. Whatever _happened_ to Megatron has closed off his brain. Oh, he's there, but he won't be waking up anytime soon, and when he _does_ wake up, he won't be the same Megatron for a while. He might never be the same."

"Your recommendation, doctor?"

"Were this any other patient? Euthanasia. Four years of coma is already a death sentence. But, seeing as this is Megatron…"

A mumble. Moonracer leaned closer.

"Soundwave," Starscream said, "when are you going to accept that our… glorious leader is all but dead. You heard the doctor."

Another mumble. This Soundwave guy really needed to speak up.

Knock Out made an affronted noise. "You make it sound like I _want_ to work for you. Even if Starscream did _hire_ ," his tone made it very clear there was no exchange of money. Threats, maybe, but not cash, "me, why would it be in my interest to pit the rest of you against me?"

"Well, doctor," Starscream oozed, "you haven't exactly been a font of sound decisions in the past."

" _My_ ," Knock Out said, acid in his voice, "I suppose I could say the exact same thing to you. Funny, isn't—"

There was a clatter as someone, presumably Starscream, pushed his chair over, then the stomping of feet, and then the sharp, sickly smack of flesh hitting flesh. Moonracer covered her mouth.

"Oh fuck fuck." She muttered to herself, pacing in a circle. What was she supposed to do? Was this _normal_? Stock execs didn't slap each other around, did they?

She knocked on the door. The room went quiet.

Starscream opened the door. His left hand was very carefully tucked behind his back.

"What?"

"Uh, coffee, again." Moonracer bared her teeth in an expression that was technically a smile. Shockwave and Soundwave were blatantly not looking at Knock Out, who was staring sharply and determinedly out the window. Moonracer could only see half of his face. His mouth was twisted down in a sharp frown, and his single visible eye was a little watery.

"Ah, I'll just put this here." Moonracer deposited the coffee in the table and all but sprinted out, pulling the door shut behind her.

Crazy!

She went back to the secretary's desk and sat down.

"Hey, Nancy."

"Yes?" Nancy looked up from her old TV reruns. "What's up?"

That was a good question. Moonracer didn't rightly know.

"Uhh, nevermind."

* * *

Moonracer had never been gladder to go home. She let loose on the interested, bumping up to fifth gear as quickly as she could, both windows rolled down.

She wasn't going to tell Blurr or Perceptor about Shockwave's meeting, not when she wasn't actually sure what had happened. Yes, she'd heard some suspect noises, but throwing around blame without knowing exactly what happened was a direct path to getting fired. And then what would she do with her time?

Megatron, though. She knew that name, and not just because Starscream had mentioned him before.

Moonracer frowned. She wasn't stupid enough to look at her phone while driving, so she pulled over and type 'Megatron' into the search engine.

"Coma. Hmm."

According to Google, Megatron was some up and coming politician friend of the mayor who had tragically slipped into a coma around four years ago due to unknown causes. That didn't exactly mesh with what she had overheard from Starscream.

' _Whatever it was you did to Megatron…_ '

She looked up Knock Out. He was a doctor—an ER surgeon at Velocity Memorial, according to their website. Which was… weird. Trauma surgeons didn't do comas, right? A coma was an ICU thing, at least according to Moonracer's fuzzy memories of her granddad after he had his heart attack. It might've made sense if Knock Out was the doctor who initially operated on him, but it had been four years. His case should have been switched to a long term care person by now.

The question remained. What had Starscream done to Megatron?

Actually, back up. Why was _Shockwave_ associating with these people? Was TV right and all corporate bigwigs were evil?

Moonracer closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

"I'm being stupid."

She started her car. Home was still a few miles away and she was tired. It was dark out, which was Moonracer's favorite time to drive. It was just her, her car, and the road. The roads were empty on this half of the country.

Moonracer pursed her lips. Well, if no one was on the road…

She pulled off the road onto the dirt, then got out of her car. She stripped off her cardigan and dropped it about fifty feet in front of her car, then got back inside.

"Okay. Deep breath." Moonracer muttered, then accelerated. She shifted into second gear as soon as she could. Ten feet from her cardigan. She pushed down the clutch, then twisted the wheel sharply left. With her other hand, she yanked up the handbrake.

"Yes!"

Dust kicked up behind her as her wheels lost traction and slid into a drift. She slammed on the gas and let the clutch go. The gears in the engine caught and grinded, and the entire car shuddered beneath her. The engine choked and sputtered, dying under her. The car coasted to a halt.

"Aw, dammit," Moonracer slapped the wheel, then patted it. "Sorry."

Maybe it was a bit hypocritical to chide Blurr for drag racing when she did _this_.

Moonracer stepped out of her car and picked up her cardigan, then tossed it in a plastic bag before throwing it on top of her purse. No way was she getting dusty dirt all inside her nice, clean car. Then she popped the hood and frowned at the engine.

"Sorry baby." Moonracer kissed her fingers and pressed them to the heated engine block. She slid back into her car and started the engine, pulling back onto the highway.

She clicked open the garage and drove in, then shut off her car.

"Honey, I'm home!" She called out, unlocking the garage door.

"My lady love," Blurr replied hurtling over the kitchen counter. He leapt into Moonracer's arms, which would have been an amazing show of strength on her part if she were tall enough to get Blurr off the ground.

"Oof! Heya Blurr. How was your mom?"

Blurr extracted himself from the tangle of their arms. "She saw Perceptor's stuff on the couch and thinks we're having a lover's spat. You've kicked me out onto the couch because I haven't agreed to have a June wedding."

"Ugh. June? Does your mother know me at all?" Moonracer hung up her purse and tossed her cardigan at the washing machine. "I obviously want an August wedding. I've been planning a beach wedding for ages and I want the water warm enough to swim in."

"Well, if you wanna call mom and tell her we're getting married on a beach in August you be my guest but let me tell you it won't end up pretty!"

"Honestly, what is she going to do when you find some guy with a car nice enough to take home?" Moonracer unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and sprawled on the couch. She toed one of Perceptor's sweaters to the carpet and propped her feet up.

"Ah, well."

"What's this?" Moonracer sat up. "Blurr, shocked to silence?" She squinted at him. "Ahhh, you sly dog! You got me all distracted with Perceptor and Arcee and I didn't even notice! What's his name? What kind of car does he have?"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Blurr wagged his finger. "If you think I'm going to make it easy for you, you've got another thing coming. And by another thing I mean I'm going to make you guess and then probably tell you because we tell each other everything honestly."

"Okay, okay," Moonracer sat up. "What's my clue?"

"Hmm. You've met him before, at a race—the car show off I-85," he clarified.

"Okay, ah, let's see." She thought back, and her face contorted with dread. "Oh, gosh, it wasn't that skinhead guy, was it?"

"Moonracer, look at me," Blurr gestured to himself, "there are like three requirements to being a skinhead and one of them is being racist, and I think that sort of precludes those kinds of people from dating me. Also, really?"

"What're the other two?"

"Skin and a head, clearly."

"Okay, okay. I just wanted to get the worst case scenario out of the way first. Umm, who else. Oh, that muscle guy you challenged to a speed walking race? The one in yellow?"

"Nope!"

Moonracer bit her lip and tried to remember back to the car show. To be quite honest, she spent most of the night pestering Overdrive to teach her how to drift. If it wasn't the avant-garde (creepy man in a Jeep), or the modern (buff guy in an Urbana), then perhaps it was classic.

"The redhead in the Aston… Martin." Moonracer trailed off. _That_ was where she recognized Knock Out from! The race! Okay, that solved one question and opened like five more. Why was a street racing surgeon on retainer with Shockwave?

"Nope again!" Blurr crowed victoriously. "He drove the leopard print RX7. I actually saw him at the animal shelter because I was thinking of getting a dog because I don't want a _hobby_ like you but I get kinda lonely sometimes and my therapist says animal companionship can help with mental well-being, anyways I recognised him from the race and it turns out he works at the shelter and he has a bunch of cats, so we talked cars for a bit and it turns out he ran track too so I challenged him to a foot race; I won but he was really close to tying with me and I thought that was really impressive and then this short man came out and threw a sponge at him and told him to go work again so he asked for my number and I told him we should go running sometimes and we did and I think we're dating now on account of he asked me if he could kiss me and I said yes. So yes."

"Uh, yeah," Moonracer snapped herself out of her thoughts and took a moment to absorb Blurr's diatribe. "Oh my gosh, that's great! Blurr, I'm so happy for you!"

The front door cracked open.

"Hello, you two," Perceptor said, locking and deadbolting the door, "what have I missed?"

"We're getting married in August on the beach and Blurr got a dog."

"Well, send me an invitation and I'll see if I can get someone to cover classes for me."

"Oh, I dunno," Moonracer picked at her nails, "I think Blurr's new boyfriend might throw a wrench in our plans."

"Blurr, that's wonderful." Perceptor dumped his messenger bag on the table and slumped over onto the table.

"And he says nothing of my broken heart." Moonracer threw herself dramatically over Blurr's lap. "How cruel and callous!"

"I do my best. How was your date with Arcee?"

Moonracer sat up. "That's not 'til tomorrow. Right?" She scrambled at her phone calendar. "Yeah, not until tomorrow."

"Really?" Perceptor squinted at her, "What day is it?"

"Monday. I work Mondays and Tuesdays, and I've only worked one day this week."

"Hm. I think I forgot to collect homework for Beachcomber's class. Oh well, I'll get it tomorrow."

"He's still out? I thought they were suppose to be back by now." Blurr frowned. "He wasn't going that far, right?"

Perceptor nodded. "They were set to return yesterday, but Hound's keys fell into a ravine because he was distracted by some rare species of lizard. Beachcomber managed to hotwire his car."

"They should've brought you along," Blurr nudged Moonracer.

"Ahhh, let me leave my criminal past in peace."

"You know how to hotwire cars?" Perceptor raised an eyebrow.

"Er, technically, yeah. Remember when I took us out to catch that drive-in showing of Rocky Horror? My parents took my keys because I failed that one history report we had to do on inventions or whatever, so I hotwired it. Took me ages and I nearly electrocuted myself."

"Really? And to think I associated with you, you delinquent."

"Perceptor, you wore an eyepatch throughout tenth grade and told everyone to call you Magnificus. You also had that weird crush on that weeb kid."

"You mean the one who saved my life?" Perceptor snipped. "And it wasn't a crush."

"Perceptor," Moonracer said, "literally all he did was throw your epipen at you. You weren't even having anaphylaxis; you just stuck a pencil up your nose because Blurr and I dared you."

"Yeah, and then you followed him around for nearly a month trying to explain honor debts to him and you told him you were really impressed with his collection of mall katanas." Blurr added. "And even I knew that was a lie."

"I can't believe you two." Preceptor rubbed his forehead. "Such abuse I suffer from you."

"Yeah, okay Mr. Drama. How did your day go?"

"Hm, oh, it was fine. We managed to process those drugs we found. They're all the same batch of Dark Energon, but it's not the variety we usually find there. Ultra Magnus is concerned."

"What, like there's a new dealer?"

Perceptor shrugged. "Possibly, or some lab has come across money. The content of actual Dark Energon is higher than it usually is, which suggests that this is a higher quality. Either way, it doesn't bode well."

"Aw, that sucks," Moonracer sucked air through her teeth. "Why is such a drug problem here? We aren't even urban."

Blurr opened his mouth.

"Rhetorical, rhetorical!" Moonracer waved her hands. "You've told me before and it's super cool. I'm just lamenting."

"It wasn't that, although it probably has to do with the fact they were near Vegas, but I was going to say that Cheetor said his boss has a pity project and he hired this former gang type guy and he and that short man get into arguments all the time and Cheetor's overheard him calling him a Decepticon, which I've heard before on the news."

"Yeah," Moonracer snapped her fingers, "I remember them. They poof vanished like four years ago."

"Why do you know this?" Perceptor sat up and eyed the electric kettle. "We had a faculty meeting where they told us to be understanding if anyone came forwards now that the gang proper had dissolved."

"I used to listen to police radio." Moonracer flapped her hand, "anyways, you think they're back or something?"

Four years. Why was that important?

' _Four years of coma…_ '

No, nope, no. Moonracer stopped her thoughts in their tracks. This was full on tinfoil hat thinking. But still… sometimes co-incidence was a plan in disguise, right?

Blurr and Perceptor finished whatever conversation they were carrying on.

"How was _your_ day, Moonracer?" Perceptor finished making a cup of herbal tea (ew!) and looked back at her.

"Me? Ah, good, normal." I totally didn't come up with far reaching conspiracies in my head. "Nancy's on some TV binge, so she was distracted enough to let me use Shockwave's chop to okay some documents."

"How exciting." Perceptor arched an eyebrow.

"I live an exciting life," Moonracer spread her hands magnanimously. "Okay, who's turn is it for dinner?"

Neither of them responded.

"Okaayy. I'll order pizza."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Chapter title comes from Ellie Goulding's Only You.

For the curious, yes, Nancy is a canon character. She's one of the Junkions.

Other references to transformers' series include: Drift from IDW as 'that weeb kid with the swords' and Cheetor and the Maximals (plus Dinobot) as 'beleaguered animal shelter employees'.

A note: I can't drive stick (or rather, I can't drive stick more than a foot or so without stalling out), so my depiction of driving a manual is probably inaccurate. I can't drift either.

Another note: I have a tendency to include a bunch of casual violence in my stuff (given that they're all giant robots in a war and such), but even witnessing actual violence is terrifying. Moonracer's reaction (while tending to melodrama for the sake of mildly comedic storytelling) isn't that unrealistically dramatic.


	3. My Enemy

Moonracer tugged at the shadows under her eyes. It was like she had a stunning pair of shiners. _Not_ date material. She applied another layer of concealer. If Astoria or Nancy said something, then she'd know it wasn't working and could try something new from there. Arcee didn't exactly seem like a makeup person, so she was probably less perceptive to inch thick coats of foundation than either of the bubbly secretaries.

Moonracer sighed. Blurr was probably right, and she could show up to her date in sweats and a stained tee-shirt and Arcee wouldn't care, but _Moonracer_ would. Why get bother getting dressed up if you weren't getting dressed up for yourself?

She pushed her hair (newly curled) back over her shoulders and eyed herself critically. Eh, good enough.

Moonracer looked at her nails and frowned. Was she getting ahead of herself by trimming them? She pulled a face in the mirror and thought about Arcee. Then she thought about Arcee naked.

She cut her nails. She filed down the raw edges, too, which really _was_ getting ahead of herself.

"Okay, Blurr!" She picked up her purse and her heels. "I'm off! I'll be back around whenever me and Arcee finish our date. Don't wait for me!"

She stuffed her heels in her purse and slid on a pair of flip flops, the darted out to her car. It was a rare chilly day, and she was wearing shorts. Luckily, her precious wonderful car had heated seats. Pft. And Blurr said she wouldn't need them in Nevada. Moonracer cranked her car and pulled out.

Today was going to be wonderful and _normal_. No weird conspiracies, no possible in-fighting, no insomnia and getting up at three am because of stress headaches. It was going to be great.

There was a car parked in her spot. An Aston Martin. Red.

"Oh, dammit!"

Moonracer ended up having to park next to Shockwave's car, an ugly old sedan from the mid-nineties. She had brought it up once, only to receive an owlish glance in return. Apparently it was illogical to buy a new car when his old one was functioning perfectly. The logical choice, maybe, but not the aesthetic one.

"Oooh, I hope a minivan clips you," she said to it, switching from flip flops to heels, "a red one, to mess up your ugly beige paint."

She stomped over to the elevator, pulling her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. The desert was not supposed to be this cold! It took the three flights down to the main floor for her to shake off her chill and her sour mood.

"Hi, Moonracer!" Astoria called. "That cute guy is here again!"

"Yeah, I saw his car. Really nice."

"Forget his car, did you see his face? I didn't know cheekbones could look that good! You tell her, Astrotrain." Astoria elbowed the bleary-eyed security guard beside her. He was awake, which at six in the morning was a feat.

"Uh, yeah. He had bones. C'mon through." Astrotrain waved her past the metal detector. "Keep your head down up there, yeah? Boss has Starscream in today."

"Thanks for the heads up." Moonracer hit the button for the executive floor and frowned. There went her wish for a peaceful day. Maybe she'd corner Knock Out and drill him about his face, see if she was really conjuring up a punch or not. _Or_ she could not do that and hide out with Nancy all day, then go on her date. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

"Coffee call!" Nancy said, wagging a pen back and forth. "I swear they drink more caffeine than Robert De Niro in Heat. How about you buy them a cup?"

"I think I'll just make it, thanks."

Moonracer moved through her coffee routine with a sinking pit of dread in her stomach. Fingers crossed she was imagining things. She rushed to the door as quickly as she could and knocked loudly. The less time she spent here the less chance she'd have of hearing something incriminating.

"Coffee!" She chirped brightly when the door opened. Shockwave stared down at her. Starscream was at his side of the table, messy as usual, and Knock Out was on the far side. He looked like Moonracer did—too much concealer. Oh boy. Soundwave was nowhere to be seen, which was good because he was super creepy.

"Thank you." Shockwave intoned.

"No problem, boss!" Moonracer tossed off a cheery little salute and pulled the door shut. Then she squatted in the hall and ran her fingers back through her hair. This was too stressful! Was this what priests felt like after confessionals?

"Not going to drink your coffee, Knock Out?" Starscream jibed. Moonracer stood up. Time for her to leave.

"Too much caffeine is bad for the complexion, Starscream, didn't you know?" Knock Out drawled.

"Hn. Very funny. You will be there tonight, yes? I'm told we need a doctor for these sorts of things. I can't get one of my junkies to forge your signature."

"It's elaborate for a reason."

"You'll be there." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Starscream."

Moonracer pulled away from the door. That wasn't suspicious at all. Gosh, when had her life become so dramatic?

She turned around and yelped.

Soundwave looked down at her, his pale, pale eyes staring at her. He looked past her at the door.

"Oh, I was just getting coffee. There's some for you… inside. Right."

She slipped around him and walked towards the secretary's desk, heart racing. Soundwave watched her go. He didn't try to stop her, so maybe he hadn't been standing behind her, listening to her listen in, for long. Hopefully.

Moonracer sat back down and started sorting papers. Nancy was adsorbed with her phone, streaming new and TV.

Okay. Think.

They were meeting somewhere, tonight, which was super suspicious when one took into consideration that Starscream needed a doctor for whatever he was going to do. But hell, there were about a million things for which you needed a doctor that weren't illegal. Maybe his dog was giving birth. Maybe he was getting his stitches checked and didn't want to go to the hospital. Maybe they were pulling the plug on Megatron, which was still suspicious and weird but at least it was _understandable_.

Nothing came up when she searched Starscream; in fact, Google was certain his name was spelled incorrectly and searched 'star's cream' for her. She knew he was some sort of businessman, or at least that he met regularly with Shockwave for a time, then stopped doing that, then started meeting again. And that wasn't uncommon at all, business partners came and went all the time. And it wasn't too weird that he didn't return any results in a search engine. _Her_ parents didn't, and they had the money to prove they worked in trading.

Moonracer put her face in her hands. Six hours. She just had to get through six hours and then she could leave.

* * *

She lasted about four hours before she snuck back down to Shockwave's meeting room. Shockwave and his group were long since gone, but Moonracer wasn't here to get them coffee this time.

She let the door close behind her and rested her back against it.

"This is crazy," she repeated, muttering to herself as she started scouring the room for paper.

Starscream was messy, so it stood to reason that he might have dropped something. Then, Moonracer could find it and reassure herself she was freaking out over a bill. She glanced at the table, which was covered in napkins and for some reason, origami birds. Moonracer didn't want to know which of them had done that. She didn't bother cleaning up the napkins—it wasn't her job, and besides, it would make it obvious she was snooping if the room was suddenly spotless.

"Okay, paper trails. C'mon, TV, don't fail me now."

There wasn't anything suspicious under the napkins, and she didn't trust that she could refold the birds if she unfolded them to read what was on the paper. She bent over and checked under the table, concious of the door. If Soundwave thought she was suspicious for listening in on Shockwave's meeting earlier, it would stand to reason that he would try and catch her at it again. Her stomach twisted.

Moonracer slumped into one of the comfy, overstuffed chairs with a sigh. What was she doing?

She glanced down. There was a scrap of paper from one of those cheap company branded notepads caught under the foot of the table. Moonracer picked it up before she could regret noticing it. On it, scrawled in Shockwave's engineer neat block lettering, was an address.

"Four-four-three West Sprint road," Moonracer whispered. She grimaced, then took a picture of it with her phone, before tucking it back under the table leg. Then she left the room, as quietly as she came.

That was downtown, somewhere in the shipping district. Where, if she were being entirely honest, she and Blurr had once considered living, then visited the place and were too sketched out to even get out of Perceptor's car.

"Hey, I'm back!" She said to Nancy, sitting down at desk across from her.

"You were gone? Sorry, I got caught up in the season finale."

"Ha, no biggie, I was just in the restroom. Remember, I told you I was going five minutes ago."

"Okay," Nancy didn't call her on her lie. She had an _alibi_ now. Primus, this was going to end up with someone getting arrested. Hopefully it wasn't her.

The clock struck five. Perfect timing. Moonracer packed up her purse and clocked out, then headed down to the main floor.

"Moonracer!" Astoria clutched her chest. "Oh, you just missed him!"

"My sense of reason?" Moonracer grumbled under her breath.

"Huh?"

"I said: who did I miss?" Moonracer handed Astrotrain her purse and walked through the metal detector.

"That handsome guy! He gave me his number but when I texted him some guy named Bee answered."

"Must have switched up the numbers by accident. Tragic accident." Moonracer couldn't even judge, given how many times she'd given Blurr's number to guys she didn't want to talk to.

"I _know_. If you see him, could you tell him I have the wrong number?"

Aw. Astoria looked too sad for Moonracer to refuse. "Sure. See you next Monday."

She slunk out to her car. Both Knock Out's and Shockwave's cars were gone. Moonracer held her breath. Okay. This was uproariously stupid. She _should_ have called some police tipline, or hell, she should have let it slip in conversation with Arcee, and then Arcee could play detective in the middle of some stinking warehouse lot filled with illicit businessmen and Shockwave's ugly car. But no, she was planning on sneaking around the warehouse district and snooping for secrets that probably didn't even exist, because she was going crazy paranoid.

Moonracer cranked her engine and let it idle while she searched four-four-three West Sprint road on her phone. It was easily ten miles out of her way, so she couldn't even lie to herself and claim that it was just on the way home and it was no big deal if she drove by and looked for cars she recognized.

"Okay." She said, pulling out of her spot and exiting the garage. "I look around for five minutes and then I leave."

She drove north, past the hospital and back into town. The sun was slowly setting, casting long shadows across the buildings and down into Moonracer's car. It was _not_ the mood she wanted to set for trespassing.

Four-four-three. This was it.

Moonracer stopped her car. It was a decently sized warehouse, set apart from the buildings to either side by about twenty feet. There was a lot in front, but it was scattered with shipping containers and semis. Moonracer pulled into the parking spot closest to the road, so she could leave quickly if she needed to, and got out of her car. She tucked her phone in her pocket and walked across the lot, heels clacking against the asphalt. She could see the bright flash red of Knock Out's car parked alongside the warehouse, and Shockwave's dull, perfectly serviceable black sedan parked next to it. There were a few other cars, too, mostly hatchbacks and pickups. She was in the right place, at least.

Ohhhhh, she felt eyes on her back. She hunched her shoulders and kept walking. The warehouse series of huge rolling doors at the front, with a smaller human sized door near the side. Moonracer walked up to it. It had a sliding peephole, like it had coms straight out of a movie about speakeasies. She saw light coming from the crack under the door, and could hear faint voices if she listened closely.

Okay, this clearly wasn't her way in. She walked around the side of the building, dodging plastic bags and weeds sprouting through the cracks in the pavement. Moonracer rounded the corner, and ended up one foot up a staircase. Bingo. There must have been a second floor office. She took the stairs up. Her steps were overloud in the quiet evening air. She spared a glance at her phone and bit back a sigh. She had definitely been here for more than five minutes.

And she was going to be late for her date. Arcee didn't deserve to get stood up like this.

Moonracer set her jaw. She'd check this door, and then she was leaving. There were no lights on in this room. She tried the handle.

The door creaked open.

"Oh shit," Moonracer whispered. She held her breath. After a minute of crouching in the dark, half inside, half outside, she relaxed. She stood up and turned on her phone light, cupping it with her hand to keep any stray beams of light from alerting a bored security guard to her presence.

The room looked like any other dinky warehouse office: there was a chair, an ugly desk, and a few filing cabinets along the walls. The door leading (presumably) to the staircase and the rest of the warehouse had a window, which Moonracer made note to stay far away from. She pulled the door shut behind her and stepped inside.

"If I were incriminating evidence, where would I hide?"

The file cabinets. Moonracer crept across the room, careful to keep her heels from clacking too loudly.

She tried the first cabinet. Locked. Moonracer's mouth twisted downwards. Okay, so that was out. It was probably a sign that she should just give up and leave (twenty minutes 'til she was late for her date!). Instead of doing the smart thing and leaving, she tried the desk.

"Bingo." The top drawer opened with the slightest touch. Moonracer squinted at it and shone her light at its contents: a pad of sticky notes, some pens, a highlighter, a stapler, and some paperclips. "Not bingo."

"Could you talk any louder, Motormaster?" Came a voice from outside the door. The handle rattled. "Hm. I could have sworn this was unlocked."

"Here, I got a key."

Moonracer glanced across the room. Too far to make it to the door leading outside. She dove under the desk.

The door opened, spilling light into the office, and two people walked in. Moonracer held her breath.

"Alright," Knock Out said. "Sit."

"In what chair?" The other person—probably this Motormaster—scoffed.

"Can't do anything for yourself, can you?" Knock Out groused. A pair of leather loafers stepped into Moonracer's field of view. Knock Out paused, shifted his weight, and shut the desk drawer. Then he dragged the chair from where Moonracer had shoved it in her mad scramble under the desk.

Moonracer exhaled.

"Alright. Sit. Hm, your nose isn't too pretty. I suppose you'll have to give up on your dreams of modeling."

Motormaster snorted. "Why does he always go for the face? I hope his fucking knuckles broke on my forehead."

"Who knows why Starscream does anything?" Knock Out said, then grunted slightly. "Oh, I know: Megatron."

"You think?"

"I think it's obvious he's trying to imitate our _dear_ leader in the only way he can. Namely: physical abuse of his employees. Poor Starscream needs a hug or two. And for Megatron to tell him he's a worthwhile human being."

"Pft. Even your self esteem issues aren't that bad."

"What self esteem issues? I'm perfect and I know it."

"Yeah. Right." Motormaster shifted in the chair with a creak of leather. "Look, Knock Out. Lay off the Megatron stuff. Starscream is too touchy to prod."

"What's he going to do, hm?" Paper tore. "There. All bandaged up."

"Breakdown. You know."

Knock Out sighed deeply. "Alright. Fine."

"Good. C'mon. Let's hear what the new boss has to say."

The two men padded out of the carpeted room and tapped down the staircase. Moonracer dared to peek out from behind the desk. She caught her breath and pulled back.

The door was open!

She waited. No loud footsteps, no shouts of surprise. Maybe she hadn't been noticed?

Moonracer crept to the open door. No one was waiting outside it; there was no one coming back up the stairs. It seemed like she was in the clear. She poked her head around the door and looked at the first floor.

A group of about a dozen people stood in loose congregation. She spotted Knock Out and the skinhead from the race—his nose was battered to all hell, so he must have been Motormaster. Shockwave and Soundwave were standing to one side, conversing quietly. Soundwave's long fingers fiddled with a scrap of paper, folding and unfolding it. The rest of the people looked skinny, and tired, with dirty clothing and dirtier hair.

"Walk!" Starscream slammed open the door and dragged a man through it, his fingers tight on the man's shirtsleeve. It really didn't look like he was doing much dragging, given that he was just so skinny and the other man so much broader than him, but regardless of the specifics, they were both moving in the same direction, and Starscream was leading them.

The crowd parted around him. It seemed to Moonracer that Starscream wasn't very popular with the rest of the group, and not just because she had overheard Knock Out and Motormaster's conversation. There was a real physical space between Starscream and everyone else, and even Shockwave—who Moonracer was convinced had never felt genuine emotion in his life—was frowning. Starscream shoved the man into the center of the group.

"Now, Dreadwing," he said, and his voice was on the nervous side of smooth, all catching and ragged, "care to _repeat_ yourself?"

"What is this about?" Dreadwing asked tiredly. His voice was deep and sonorous, gravely, like he chainsmoked and liked it.

"Don't ignore me!" Starscream snapped. Even from her high vantage point, Moonracer could see the bags under his eyes and the deep lines of stress carved by his frown. "Repeat it!"

Dreadwing's face curled into a sneer and he stood straight-backed. "Where is Megatron?"

"Megatron is not _here_!" Starscream tugged his hair. " _I_ am in charge here, Dreadwing, and I expect you to obey _me_!"

"I follow Megatron, and Megatron alone. Not some pretender." He hissed the words, and Starscream's eyes blazed. He reached forwards and slapped Dreadwing. The smack echoed through the tall ceilings. Moonracer bit her lip. This was getting more sketchy than she had imagined. Normal people didn't have clandestine meetings in decrepit warehouses. She pulled out her phone and started recording.

" _Pretender_!" Starscream spat, then forcibly made himself take a breath. "Now, Dreadwing," he said, voice curdled, "I'm sure we all dearly miss our beloved leader, but times must change. After all, isn't change what mighty Megatron wanted in the first place? You can't _honestly_ stay loyal to him without upholding his ideals, can you?"

"What does coward scum like you know about loyalty?" Dreadwing quickly advance on Starscream, backing him into a pile of shipping crates.

"More than you do, obviously," Starscream muttered, trying to edge around Dreadwing to give himself more space. Louder, he said, "Megatron named me his second for a reason. If you can't respect me, at least respect that."

It looked like it caused him physical sickness to bargain with that.

"He called you his second before you tried to _kill_ him!"

The room silenced. All eyes went to Starscream. He looked desperate, wildly darting eyes and a fixed grin on his face. Then the whispers started. Moonracer couldn't hear, but she had been in enough cliques to imagine: 'I can't believe it.', 'Did he really?.'

Starscream's face set.

He moved, and there was a deafening bang, and Dreadwing slumped to the floor.

Starscream didn't seem to register what he had done. Luckily for him, no one else did either. Dreadwing was facedown on the ground, blood—was it supposed to be that _red_?— seeping out from under him. Primus, he was _dead_. Moonracer covered her mouth. Her phone slipped out of her hand.

It was like time had slowed. She could see it tumbling and grabbed for it, but it clattered to the ground.

"Fuck."

The silence broke.

"What?" Howled Starscream, tucking his pistol into the waistband of his pants. "Get her."

And _that_ was her cue to leave.

Moonracer scrambled back into the office, tugging the door shut behind her. She could hear the shouts as Starscream's crew reacted and began to sprint up the stairs.

"Oh shit, oh shit!" Moonracer locked the door and shoved the chair under the knob. Then, she opened the door leading outside and took the stairs two at a time, barely conscious of her sloppy footing. Why had she worn _heels_?

"Okay," she said to herself, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice, "car. Get to the car. Get to the police."

She hit the ground roughly, with a shock she knew she'd feel tomorrow, if she made it out of this alive. The first level door swung open. Moonracer clapped her hand over her mouth and sprinted for one of the semis parked alongside the warehouse. Four people spilled out of it. Starscream followed them.

"Well she didn't fucking _walk_ here!" He said, squinting into the darkness. "Find her car! Slash the tires; I don't care! But she doesn't leave here!"

Get to the car was out.

Moonracer crouched and covered her face with her hands. Ugh, were her eyes running? This was _not_ the time for tears.

"Okay," she mouthed, "calm down. Calm down. They have to give up eventually. I can wait for a clear spot and run to one of the other warehouses, across the street…"

There was no way she could make it that far without someone noticing her, and these people had guns.

"Dammit."

The people upstairs must have broken down the office door, because the door leading outside opened.

"She's not in here!"

"Did you check under the desk?" Starscream said, hauling himself up the stairs.

"She ain't here, boss!"

"Eugh! Useless!" Starscream stepped back inside. Moonracer glanced around. The sharp hiss of escaping air resounded in the empty air; her car was out, but it seemed like the coast was clear to get to a more secure hiding spot. She readied herself, and sprinted back behind the warehouse. Even if her wheels were shot, she could still drive. If she looped around the building and came at the car from the opposite side of the warehouse doors, maybe she could get out before she was noticed. Moonracer slipped around the back of the warehouse, heart pounding in her chest.

Every step she took sounded like thunder against the dusty earth. Her foot caught on a bit of rock and she stumbled, banging her knee against the side of the warehouse. Shit! Moonracer froze.

"You hear something?"

Moonracer ran. The voice had come from behind her, so the other side of the building was probably still clear. She rounded the corner and nearly bowled over someone.

She tripped and went down. Moonracer pulled off her shoe and scrambled to her feet, whirling to face the person.

Knock Out held up his hands.

"Back off!" Moonracer said, voice tight with fear. She held her shoe up defensively.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" He hissed. "I'm on your side!"

"I think she went this way!" Voices echoed from behind the warehouse. Moonracer ducked behind the nearest semi.

"Knock Out?" The voice seem surprised. "You seen the chick? We heard somethin' this way."

Knock Out scoffed. "No. I haven't seen anything. I don't know why Starscream sent us on this fool's errand."

"She saw him, uh… She saw how Dreadwing, er, died. Probably wants to make sure she won't snitch to the cops. Or that she isn't a cop, y'know?"

"Probably." Knock Out said agreeably. "I'll keep watch here. Why don't you all check inside again? She might've slipped inside while no one was looking."

"Yeah, that makes sense. A cop would want to look at the body." The speaker's jaw clicked shut. "Uh..."

"He's dead."

"...Right. Catch you later."

Knock Out was silent for a moment. "You can come out now."

Moonracer put her shoe back on and stepped out from behind the truck. "Thanks. Why did you help me?"

"You think I like Starscream?" Knock Out arched a brow at her. The concealer over his eye was gone, and Moonracer could see the sickly mottled green bruises surrounding it.

"So what is this, then? Let me go so you can take over when Starscream is arrested?" Moonracer kept a careful distance between her and Knock Out.

"Again with the assumptions? You know what they say about those things. No, I don't want to _take over_ ; I don't even want to be here in the first place, but you know." He shrugged, "Circumstance makes villains of us all."

"You're an asshole." Moonracer cautiously glanced around the semi truck. "Damnit. I can't make it to my car. Why can't you lie better?"

"Oh, excuse me for saving your life." Knock Out rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off. I'm gonna make a run for it."

"And get how far?" Knock Out caught her shoulder and spun her around. "If you die, I'm stuck as Starscream's lackey until he dies or he kills me, and I'm not interested in sewing up his dealers for that long."

Moonracer threw his hand off. "Alright, any _brilliant_ suggestions, then?"

As one, their eyes lighted on Shockwave's ugly sedan.

"Same model as my first car," Moonracer muttered to herself.

"Yes, it's very ugly; your point?"

"My point is, I'm stealing it." Moonracer ran the short distance across the parking lot and skidded to a stop next to the car. She tried the door. Unlocked. Perfect. Guess Mr. Logical wasn't fond of anti-theft measures.

Knock out walked up next to her, carefully glancing over his shoulder. "Hurry up. Starscream has to have given up on the warehouse by now. He's going to start looking for you outside."

"Well, that'll give me time to do _this_." She yanked the wheel sharply and pulled down on the wheel cover at the same time. The ding old plastic popped off, revealing a bundle of wires. Moonracer got to work carefully stripping the wires she needed and twisted them together.

Before the last wire, she looked up at Knock Out. "Thanks. Also, I spat in your coffee."

Knock Out grimaced. "That's fine. Starscream stole it anyways."

"Ha, serves him right. You might want to hide. This is going to make some noise."

"When you escape, make sure to tell the police I was _instrumental_ in helping you get away. Embellish it a little; I showed up out of the blue and knocked out someone trying to stab you or something."

"And saved a kitten while you were at it. Sure." Moonracer twisted the wires together and the engine roared to life. She quickly slammed the door shut and shifted into first, then pulled out of the parking lot. Her poor car was sitting where she had left it, nearly touching the ground now that the tires were flat. She sped past a group of startled dealers and pulled onto the main road.

Moonracer heard engines start behind her; she wasn't out of danger yet. There were two cars in her rearview, both cheap and sort of scrapped together from other cars.

Shockwave's car really was awful, and the other two cars were gaining on her. They looked low slung, maybe she could lose them off-road. Moonracer turned into the desert, towards the mesas that bordered the town to the north. The ground was mostly flat, but that didn't mean there weren't rocks and shrubs that would tear a car's chassis to pieces.

The two cars took her turn and followed her into the shrubland. Not good. They were still gaining, more slowly now, but the hundred feet or so of space between them was steadily vanishing.

At this rate Moonracer was going to be caught and shot.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a turn off back onto the road. There was about a quarter of a mile in-between her and the mesa face.

Moonracer set her face. "Okay. Just imagine a cardigan."

She dropped down into second gear and wrapped her hand around the brake, eyes fixed on the rock wall. Now!

Moonracer slammed the clutch and yanked the handbrake up, then flicked the wheel towards the road. She pulled the brake off and let out the clutch. The gears rolled smoothly into third gear as she revved the engine. She turned the steering wheel into the drift and swung, perfectly, around the corner. The mesa face was perpendicular to her now, and she could see the detail in the rock through the passenger window.

The two cars following her weren't as lucky. The first one slammed into the rock, crumpling the hood and blowing the airbags in the driver's face. The second car slowed a little and swerved before hitting the mesa. He clipped the side of the hood and went spiraling out of control.

Moonracer let out a victorious whoop and pulled back onto the highway.

She patted her pockets for her cellphone, and realized it was missing. It was probably smashed to bits under Starscream's foot by now. Okay, that sucked, but was this still doable. She fished in Shockwave's cupholders for a quarter.

It was dark out, darker than it should have been, and Moonracer felt wetness under her eyes and a rasp in her throat. Damn. _Damn_. She held her breath. No, now wasn't the time to have a breakdown. That could wait; she had more important things to do right now.

The nearest payphone was at a mostly empty gas station about three miles down the road. Moonracer got out of the car and stumbled over to it, her ankle twinging in protest. She put the quarter in and dialed.

"Hello?" Arcee's clipped voice said.

"Uh, hey, Arcee," Moonracer twisted the phone cord around her finger, "it's me, Moonracer."

"Ah." Oh, she sounded bummed.

"Uh, yeah. I'm late. For the date. For regular Arcee. Sorry, but I've got a crazy story. Um," Moonracer swallowed down her panic, "can I talk to _Officer_ Arcee?"

* * *

Dun, dun, dunnnnnn. Okay, see you all next time! Uh, whenever that is...


End file.
